


Yellow Haze

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, During Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2018-09-03 08:43:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8705503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: “You really gonna do this, man?” Dean asked. You looked at your shoes, and nodded. He turned his head to look out of the window and gritted, “Then get the fuck out of the car.”





	1. Yellow Haze

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** -

  
Author's notes: not beta'd, all mistakes are on me.  
depending on the comments i'll decide if i want to continue this or not, so comments are loved!  


* * *

_Summer 2001_

You remember the pale street lights dancing across Dean’s face as he drove you to the bus station. His liquid green eyes were frozen solid, pupils almost non-existent. You remember staring at his profile in the yellow haze projected by passing cars and the stars.

 

You remember reaching out to brush your fingertips against his jaw. Skin to skin contact always said more than words did anyways. The instant your skin came in contact with your older brother’s, he flinched away. 

 

You dropped your hand immediately and studied his face. This isn’t the brother you grew up with. This isn’t the man you inevitably fell in love with at the age of fourteen. This was the cold façade of a broken man. 

 

Knuckles white and jaw clenched, Dean chose that moment to turn and look at you. You remember how you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure of how to react as your brother studied your eyes. He nodded and turned back to pay attention to the road. 

 

You remember at that exact moment you thought back to the month you and Dean spent alone in December one year while dad was somewhere in Wyoming hunting a Wendigo.

 

_Summer of 1997_

 

Dean had convinced you take a week off of school. _C’mon Sammy, don’t be a little bitch._ You laughed at him and told him to fuck off, even though you ended up taking that extra week off of school anyways. 

 

That was the first time you kissed your older brother.

Dean came home from work with hot chocolate and pot. With a coy grin he told you to kindly fuck off. You realize that it was Christmas, and Dean spent his entire paycheck on you.

 

An hour later you both were lying on Dean’s bed, smoking pot and drinking hot chocolate. Your head was on your brother’s lap, his fingers slowly running through your hair. You were both quiet for a while, Karma Police playing quietly in the background. 

 

You sat up, and faced your brother. He smirked at you, pupils dilated and his bottom lip bitten red. His skin was warm, freckles running up and down his arms and across the bridge of his nose. For whatever the reason, you slowly leaned in to your brother’s face and nipped at his bottom lip. 

 

You remember your brother laughing, grabbing your hair and pressing his mouth to your own, the taste of hot chocolate and weed and _Dean._

 

You ended up on the floor with Dean on top of you, tugging at your shirt to feel your naked skin against his. He moans, and you could feel how hard he was against you. 

_“Oh fuck, Sammy,” he whispered against the exposed flesh between your neck and shoulder, as you slowly stroked his cock._

 

You came the moment he did, biting down on his lip and making him bleed. You took your hand out of your brother’s boxers and brought it up to your mouth. Dean shivered when you kissed him on the mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. 

 

You spent the rest of the day laying there on that floor with Dean. You remember feeling bare skin brushing against bare skin, the taste of weed, and your older brother on your tongue. You think that’s the day you fell in love with him.

 

Three weeks later dad came home from a hunt; a few new scars and some bruises, but nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. Dean guided him to the couch and took his boots off for him. Dad was asleep within five minutes.

 

You remember a month after dad came home, he sent Dean on his first solo hunt. You also remember Dean coming home practically keeping his insides from spilling out with some dental floss that wasn’t stitched properly. 

 

Dad wasn’t home when Dean walked in through the door all but crying, blood staining the carpet and dripping down his jeans. You were the one who sewed your brother back up, and kissed him on the mouth when he finally stopped shaking.

 

_Summer 2001_

 

You remember Dean pulling into the bus station, and turning off the engine of the Impala. _“You really gonna do this, man?”_ Dean asked. You looked at your shoes, and nodded. He turned his head to look out of the window and gritted, “Then get the fuck out of the car.” You didn’t dare to move an inch. _“Dean,”_

 

You were cut off when Dean’s knuckles came in contact with your jaw _“I said get the fuck out of the car.”_

 

You remember staring at Dean, mouth agape and confused. But you were only eighteen and temperamental as hell, so you grabbed your shit and slammed the car door. You didn’t look back twice. 

 

Dean stayed three hours after you left though, just in case.

 

_Summer 2005_

 

You’re looking at your brother sleeping in the motel bed across from you. The profile of his face is illuminated by the neon motel 6 sign outside, and the moon. He’s beautiful. Pale skin and freckles scattered across his shoulders. A small scar parallel to his collar bone, and his hair askew. 

 

Jess is dead. Her skin branded into the ceiling above the bed the two of you shared, her bones marred into the ashes of the burnt down apartment.

 

But your brother is merely three feet away from you, breathing, and _alive._ Despite your abhorrence towards your father and the life he has forced you to live, Dean is worth it. 

 

Living a life of constant terror isn’t something you can get used to. You aren’t afraid of broken bones or horrific scars. You aren’t even afraid of having your own insides torn out from your stomach and thrown on your feet. The only thing that terrifies you is the thought of losing your brother.

 

You thought running away to Stanford would fix everything. Instead, if anything, it only made it worse. 

 

You can hear your brother’s shallow breathing in the bed next to you, and you know he’s awake. You know everything about your brother, and you decide that maybe it’s time you accept the fucked up life you inevitably will live. 

 

You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but when you open them again you’re face to face with tired green eyes and a crinkled forehead. Dean’s pushing at your side with a sigh, _“Scoot over, man, fuck you’re heavy.”_

 

The last time your older brother laid next to you in a bed was a week before you left to Stanford. You haven’t felt his bare skin against yours in over four years, and it makes you shiver.

 

You want to say something, anything, to make Dean forgive you. You want to tell him you fucked up, that leaving him to deal with Dad on his own for four years wasn’t fair. You want to tell him you’re sorry for running away from him.

 

But words don’t affect your older brother.

 

You turn around and stare into deep green eyes. He looks older, but still the same beautiful man you left four years ago. You grab his wrists and pin them above his head as you press your mouth against his. 

 

_“Sammy,”_ he breathes into your mouth. It’s everything he wants to say and never will in one word. _I forgive you. It’s okay, it’s okay. We’re okay._

 

You slide your tongue into his mouth and let go of his wrists, occupying your hands in his bed mussed hair. You’re both in boxers, legs tangled together and tongues rolling in your mouth. 

 

His skin is cold against yours, and you gasp away from his mouth for air. You lick down his neck and bite at his skin, surprising yourself when the moan you hear is your own. Dean is tracing his fingertips against your sides, lingering touches marking you bone deep. 

 

You lift your head up and Dean meets your gaze with wide green eyes.

 

_“I’m sorry.”_

 

Dean presses his mouth against yours and pulls away. 

The neon yellow motel 6 sign outside is flickering against your brothers skin.He kisses your shoulder and slides his fingers through your long hair. 

 

Skin to skin contact always said more than words did anyways.


	2. Seaweed Green

  
Author's notes: reviews are loved! thank you for reading :)  
deciding whether or not i'm going to continue this or not, so depending on the comments i'll decide.  


* * *

You haven’t smiled this hard in years.

 

You awake to Dean humming along to _Ramble On_ by Zeppelin. His eyes are focused on the road, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your knee, thumbing the frayed hole in your jeans. You sit up, discovering you now most likely have a permanent crook in your neck.

 

Your older brother turns to look at you. His eyes are wild and awake, sea weed green with little flecks of gold, warm and _home._ He turns Zeppelin down a few notches and takes his hand off your knee. You offer a sleepy smile, “Hey, where are we?”

 

He laughs and rolls his window down. It’s warm and humid and smells like the ocean. At this very moment you don’t think that you could ever love your brother any more than you do right now. It’s almost six o’clock in the morning, and the sun is just starting to rise. You study your brother’s face, morning sunlight dancing across his face, lighting his eyes on fire.

 

Dean looks over at you with a sad smile. “I just figured you wouldn’t mind seein’ the ocean. Besides, I promised I’d take you someday”.

 

With the pain of Jess’s death still fresh in your memory, you try to stop thinking about it. But that’s easier said than done. Like losing a tooth, you keep tonguing that foreign hole in your mouth, even if you aren’t conscious of doing it.

 

A few pancakes and a couple of hours later, you find out you’re in North Carolina, approximately four miles from the ocean. You’re fucking with the skin around your fingernails aimlessly. Dean parks the Impala at the slimy motel the two of you are staying at and grabs your hand. “Sammy, if you don’t fucking stop fidgeting I will kick your ass. Leave your shit in the room and let’s go, we’re walking”.

 

You didn’t let go of your brother’s hand the entire four mile walk to the beach. The air was salty on your tongue. It was cloudy, and starting to rain. You didn’t mind though. Dean whistled, and slapped your ass. “Dude, no one’s here. I am so in favor of sex on the beach”. You laughed and shook your head. “C’mon, get out of your jeans”.

 

In less than a minute, you both were stripped down to your boxers and running towards the ocean. For half a second you pictured what it would be like if you and Dean weren’t hunters. If you both settled down and had a house and went to the beach whenever you wanted and held hands other than when someone important died bloody.

 

Dean was ten feet ahead of you, blue waves sweeping him deeper into the ocean. You waded in after him, and grabbed his face with both hands. “Dean, I’m so sor-“. Before you could finish your sentence, Dean nipped at your bottom lip. “How many times do I have to tell you to shut up? Stop fucking apologizing, Sam”. Dean’s tongue was in your mouth and his hand was on your hip, marking your bones. The waves broke you apart again, but you found your way back again.

 

You picked your brother up and he straddled you, twisting his hands in your hair, sucking your tongue into his mouth. You pulled away from him and threw him into the waves.

 

You couldn’t stop laughing. Dean was soaking wet now, freckles bright on his skin, and he had revenge shining bright green in his eyes. He lunged at you.

 

Nothing can really compare to swimming in an ocean while it rains. Two completely different sensations at once; cold rain dripping on your face and warm ocean waters enveloping you deeper into the sea. You and your brother are wrestling in the ocean, laughing and kissing and biting and you haven’t smiled so hard in years. Despite the continuous fear of losing your brother at any second, it’s moments like this that make it all worth it.

 

His smile makes your stomach jump.

 

“Dean, Dean, fine you win! Stop, I can’t breathe!” You’ve never won at a tickle fight in your entire life. Dean stops though, and pulls you up from the shallow water.

 

Things aren’t perfect. Your father is missing and your girlfriend is marred to the ceiling of your old apartment. But you’re in love with your brother and he’s kissing your face and shoulders and telling you that _you’re such a girl, Sammy,_ and you truly feel happy right now.

 

The sea’s only gifts are harsh blows, and occasionally the chance to feel strong. Now, you don’t really know all that much about the sea, but that’s how it is here. And you know that it’s important not necessarily to _be_ strong, but to _feel_ strong.

 

You brush your nose against his, and grin, dimples and all. Standing in the ocean next to your brother is as close to strong as you’ve felt in a long time.


End file.
